Mrs. Pargeter's Plot Read Free Page A

fifteenth, in Strangeways and Parkhurst respectively. So I know who my man is, don’t I?’
    â€˜Yes, I see what you mean.’ Mrs Pargeter, who always owned up straight away when she found herself in the wrong, looked properly contrite. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t have distrusted you, Truffler.’
    He shrugged forgiveness. ‘Nah. Think nothing of it. I appreciate the fact you care enough for it to upset you. But don’t you have no worries on that score. I been on the right side of the law since the moment that your husband . . . er . . .’ He wove his long fingers together in embarrassment as he tried to shape the word.
    â€˜Died?’ Mrs Pargeter supplied easily.
    â€˜Yes.’ Relieved to move off the subject, he once again tapped his copy of
Inside Out
on the desk, beaming up another warlike message to the Shoshoni. ‘And this is an invaluable means of keeping tabs on former colleagues . . . you know, seeing where they are, when they’ll be back in circulation again. Dead useful when it comes to doing my Christmas card list.’
    â€˜All right, all right.’ Mrs Pargeter grinned. ‘I think you’ve convinced me that the magazine’s an essential tool of your trade.’
    â€˜Not just that,’ Truffler persisted. ‘It’s also a very useful Early Warning System.’
    â€˜Oh?’
    He nodded grimly. ‘Oh yes. For instance, this very week, I discover, Fossilface O’Donahue will be out.’
    â€˜Fossilface O’Donahue?’ she echoed.
    Truffler Mason found the relevant page in his copy of
Inside Out,
and held it open across the desk to Mrs Pargeter. The photograph which confronted her showed the aptness of its subject’s nickname. The face did indeed look like a relic from an age before the invention of the wheel, or of human sensitivity, or of compassion. Though the picture was in black and white, she got the feeling it wouldn’t have looked very different in colour. The face was a slab of grey, with that pumicestone surface of the heavy smoker. The eyes, which can normally be relied on to lend animation to a face, were dull, dark pebbles, lurking resentfully deep in two parallel crevices. Mrs Pargeter looked up at Truffler. ‘Should I know him?’
    â€˜No, I don’t think you should. Be a lot better all round if you never do know him. Mean, vengeful bastard, without a glimmer of a sense of humour. Slippery, too – always used to come out of hiding to do a job, then apparently disappear off the face of the earth. Bad news all round, I’d say.’ He paused, choosing his words with circumspection. ‘Mind you, your husband did know him, and he and Fossilface didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, so I’m going to be keeping a close watch on the geezer’s . . . what shall I call it . . . re-entry into society?’
    â€˜You think there might be danger from this . . . Fossilface? Danger for me?’
    â€˜No, there won’t be,’ Truffler reassured her. ‘Not now I know he’s coming out. You’ll be as safe as houses. See – I told you
Inside Out
was useful. He can settle any other scores he wants to – that I don’t care about – but Fossilface O’Donahue is not going to come near you, Mrs P.’
    It was not the first time she had had cause to be grateful for the comprehensive network of care the late Mr Pargeter had organized for his survivor. She reached across the desk and placed her hand on Truffler Mason’s huge knuckles. ‘Bless you. I do appreciate the way you look after me, you know.’
    â€˜Think nothing of it. Entirely my pleasure. And what else can I do for you now, eh? I’m sure you haven’t just turned up to admire the colour of my wallpaper.’ No, thought Mrs Pargeter,
nobody
could possibly have turned up to admire the colour of that wallpaper. ‘So what is it, Mrs